Green Eyes Always Watching
by WitchGirl
Summary: Dave recalls a time past. Can't explain it, just read it. Some language and violence, not much though.


Green Eyes Always Watching  
  
Disclaimer: don't own anything dans la fanfiction! Short song excerpt is from "I won't be home for Christmas" by Blink 182.  
  
A/N: Little ficcie I thought up a while ago. Enjoy! And right a review, SVP (sil vous plait [please]) because I luv 'em!  
  
Summary: Dave recalls a time past.  
  
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It's Christmas time,  
Again It's time to be nice to the people you can't stand,  
All year  
I'm growing tired of all this Christmas cheer   
  
Christmas was never as exciting as it should be for Dave Malucci. Even as a kid, he never really liked it. Everyone at the hospital all found something to be happy about except him. He walked down the hall and rolled his eyes at Abby Lockhart and Luka Kovac kissing under the mistletoe. He passed them and saw John Carter and Mark Green laughing and drinking eggnog. Probably drunk he thought. It was Christmas Eve and here he was, stuck in the ER with lovebirds and drunken doctors. Not that it really mattered. It wasn't a busy day anyway. In fact, there were only two people there. A poor kid with a broken leg, and another guy in a coma. Other then that, it was pretty much empty.  
"Hell, this place is deserted!" Dave said looking around. He thought he'd might as well sit down with Carter and Mark and have a glass or two of eggnog.  
"Hey guys, drunk yet?"  
"Sadly, no. This is non-alcoholic eggnog, Dave! Care to try some?" Carter replied. His words were slightly slurred telling Dave that Carter wasn't as sober as he said he was.  
"How many fingers am I holding up?" Dave asked the two.  
"Eleven! No, no, joking, four" Carter answered. At least he can see straight... I hope Dave thought.  
"What the heck!" Dave said, finally. Mark took out a paper cup and poured him some eggnog.  
"Why are you such a Scrooge this time of year?" Mark asked.  
"Trust me, you don't want to mess with me at Christmas!"  
"C'mon, Dave, childhood problem?" Mark pressed. They're drunk, what do they know?  
"I don't want to talk about it," Dave answered as he looked at the snow outside. His eyes flickered over to Abby and Luka. Abby pulled her wrist around Luka's neck and looked at it over his shoulder. She pulled away from him and smiled.  
"I'm off," she told him.  
"OK."  
"I can wait if you like," she offered, "Just don't expect me to do any work."  
"No, no, you go, get out of here. I'll be fine," Luka told her. Abby kissed him once more and stood up. Dave watched as she walked to the exit. Three minutes later, she was back with a worried expression on her face.  
"What is it?" Dave asked.  
"Snow's at least four feet out there," Abby answered, "Lots and lots of snow. And it's still coming down. I can't get out of here! I'm going to check the ambulance bay. If it's snowed in, that's no good at all!" so Abby left towards ambulance bay.  
"Dave, you are such a scrooge! What is it with you and Christmas?" Carter demanded.  
"I think I'll go help Abby shovel the snow out of the ambulance bay. God knows it's better than sitting here listening to Christmas carols!" so Dave followed Abby's trail to ambulance bay, throwing on his jacket and hat, and found her shoveling snow.  
"It's not as high as it is at the other entrance because Weaver and I laid down some salt this morning. Guess we missed the other one. Come on, help," so Dave assisted in shoveling the snow. They continued in silence for the next ten minutes.  
"So, Dave, what's up with you today?" Abby finally broke the silence.  
"What do you mean?" Dave asked, but he knew perfectly well what she meant.  
"You've been acting weird all day today. Do you, I don't know, just don't like Christmas for one reason or another?"  
"I like Christmas!" Dave protested, "Like, snow and pine trees and eggnog and nosey little kids annoying you to death singing at your front door- I mean- Oh who am I kidding?" He fell back into the snow with his arms spread out. It was so thick and high, it caught him and cushioned him like an icy blanket. Abby walked over to him and looked down on him.  
"Why, Dave?"  
"You don't want to know," Dave answered, closing his eyes, wearily.  
"Come on, get up, we need to get this cleared before any ambulances come," Abby told him, reaching a hand to help him up. He reluctantly got up and began to shovel snow again with Abby. He told Abby he was going to check on the others. On his way over, he accidentally slipped on a very sleek and slippery piece of ice. His feet went out before him as he fell backwards and hit his head on the freshly shoveled pavement.  
  
He was looking on as the doctors whisked away a woman on a gurney. A woman he knew and loved. Clutching his teddy bear in one hand and grasping to his relative with another, he began to cry.  
"I'm scared, Sara," he said through his tears, tightening his grip on her hand.  
"It's alright, Davey. Mamma's gonna be fine," the girl smiled down at Dave with a bruised cheek, "Come on, let's sit down," she led Dave over to a seat in the hall and he climbed up onto her lap. How he admired her.  
"You're so brave, Sara," he marveled, "I wish I could be as brave as you."  
"You are brave, Davey, you have to be," the girl told him. She was but a bruised child, no more than eight, but she was wise beyond her years. She and her mother were all Dave had in the world.  
"Why did he have to come in and ruin everything? Why did he have to ruin Christmas this year?" he asked. It was the first Christmas with their new father.  
"Maybe he doesn't like Christmas. He always says how stupid it is."  
"I like Christmas," Dave muttered.  
"I don't think things will ever be the same," Sara whispered to herself.  
"Why did he do that to Mamma?" Dave asked her. Sara took a deep breath and bit her lip.  
"She got him angry," she finally answered.  
"I don't like it when he's angry."  
"Neither do I," Sara answered, "But everyone gets angry sometimes. We just have to be strong. You can be strong, can't you Davey?" Dave looked up into his sister's large, bright green eyes. Her eyes were always wide. Maybe it was because she was always interested and curious in things, or maybe it was her sorrow. Maybe it was because they held so many secrets and mysteries, or maybe because her stepfather had gotten angry with her. Perhaps she was born with them because her eyes were always wide. But although they were wide and obviously unhappy, they always shone with hope and courage.  
"I can be strong for you, Sara," he told her, "And I will be strong for Mamma," Sara pulled him into a big tight hug and he buried his face in her fine black hair.  
  
"Oh my God, Dave! Are you OK?" Abby asked, running over to him.  
"It was snowing," Dave muttered in a daze.  
"Of course it was snowing, it still is!"  
"And he hit her."  
"What?" Abby asked, looking at him puzzled. He still didn't seem to register Abby was there.  
"The bastard hit her! She had forgotten and he hit her. And she went to the hospital. He made Sara cry. Sara! Sara never cried. He made me cry..." Dave shook his head and blinked. Abby was looking at him, her mouth was half-open, and her eyes were disbelieving and worried, "What?" Dave asked her.  
"What did you say?"  
"Nothing!" Dave said, suddenly standing up and dusting himself off, "Nothing! Forget it! I said nothing!"  
"Dave, sit down!"  
"No! Come on, we need to get this snow out of the way," Dave said, hastily picking up a shovel and scooping.  
"I'm worried about you, Dave," Abby shook her head.  
"Don't be," Dave whispered. They shoveled in silence, Abby occasionally looking Dave's way, but Dave just shoveled. But his mind wasn't on his work. The dream had brought back memories, and they wouldn't stop coming now that he had unlocked the door...  
  
"I told you not to forget, bitch!" a loud slap as his hand came in contact with her cheek. Dave flinched in his hiding place on the stairs. From here, he could see the living room through the railing but was out of sight from his mother and stepfather. Sara, on the step above, watched without movement, her bright eyes wide as usual. She just clung to the railing with both hands and watched, expressionless and motionless. They were both four years older than they had been at the hospital, Sara at age 12 and Dave at 10 and the fighting still hadn't stopped.  
"I'm sorry, Malcolm!" Dave's mother pleaded, cowering on the couch.  
"I told you not to forget! This is the third time you forgot!"  
"I didn't mean to ruin your evening by it, honest!" another hit and their mother began to cry.  
"I've had just about enough of this, Andrea! You know I hate it when you take out my medication! I told you that I was saving that, that it was mine!"  
"But Malcolm, the children found it! David wanted me to give him some!"  
"You didn't have to flush them down the toilet! How stupid are you, bitch?" now he was taking off the belt. The long, cold, black leather band he wore. But he didn't wear it because it was the fashion. Dave closed his eyes tight but knew Sara still looked on, her green eyes mysteriously wide and sparkling. Dave heard the cracks of the whips but knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. He felt Sara on the step above him stand up and opened his eyes.  
"Where are you going, Sara?" Dave asked her.  
"I want this to end," she told Dave. She walked down the stairs, bravely standing tall.  
"Malcolm?" she asked in her small but strong voice. Malcolm's head turned from the child's mother.  
"You want some of this?"  
"Malcolm, please! It's Sara!" the weeping mother begged from the couch. Her face was red and her back was raw.  
"I know damn well who it is!" Malcolm shouted.  
"Please, Malcolm. Leave my mom alone. She didn't mean to upset you. How would you feel if she where whipping you with the belt she wore," her voice was polite, but didn't shake. Dave was sure if he was up there saying that, his voice would shake. Malcolm just laughed.  
"Andrea Malucci? Up here whipping *my* ass? Ha! Not likely!"  
"Malcolm, please. Mrs. Collins says you should always think about how others feel!"  
"Don't bring your teacher into this, what does she know? What are you, some sort of shrink?"  
"You have to consider Mother's feelings if you want to understand her better! You have to treat her with respect!" Sara tried again.  
"What about *my* feelings, hm?" Malcolm asked his stepdaughter, "How do you think *I* feel when she gets rid of my meds! I need them! They're the only thing that matters to me! As for respect, this sack of shit doesn't deserve respect!" he was advancing on Sara, fingering his belt.  
"Doesn't my mother matter to you? Don't we matter to you?" but Malcolm laughed again.  
"Andrea, your kid is full of some cheap bull shit! Who teaches your kids this stuff? Damn it, girl, I married your mother for some cheap sex! And if you had to come along with her, well that's your problem!" smack! Right across the right shoulder. Sara put her hand to her shoulder. She bit her lip and swallowed, but didn't cry. Dave knew Sara never cried.  
"Please, don't hurt me, Malcolm!" she begged him. Wham! His response was another strike across the left shoulder. Sara fell to her knees. She still wasn't crying. She bent her head and then looked up at Malcolm again, her eyes bright with a fire Dave couldn't determine.  
"You won't hurt me anymore," she whispered. Malcolm didn't hear it. He just walked behind her and struck her again, hard on the back. Three more times on the back. He lifted Sara up by her shirt collar and threw her down. She hit her head against the table. Now, her eyes were welling up. She began to cry. Sara was crying. It was impossibility; it was like fiction! It was like watching a lion cry or seeing a dog fly or conversing with a dinosaur! It just didn't happen! But here she was, a bleeding heap on the floor, sobbing into her hands. This, Dave knew, was the end. The fat lady had sung. He lost all hope. All because Sara, the invincible Sara, had been defeated.  
  
"Dave?" Abby's voice broke Dave's train of memories.  
"What?" Dave barked, with more bite than he had intended.  
"If you really don't want to tell me, I understand. But what happened to you to make you dislike Christmas so?" Dave took a deep breath.  
"It snowed, you know, a few years ago. My sister and I used to love Christmas," he wasn't really speaking to Abby, but more to himself. Abby listened anyway, "We used to love Christmas, that is, until my mother remarried. Then, all of our cider was gone, I never helped my mom and sister decorate another tree again, I never watched as Mom lit up the house with decorations or watched my sister dance to a beautiful Christmas carol again. He had to come in and ruin it all. He said Christmas was a scam Hallmark created to get you to buy more cards. He never was religious anyway. Whenever my mother so much as put red and green together in the decorating, he flipped. So when Sara came home asking to sing and dance in the Christmas pageant, he hit her. My mom stepped in and he beat her so severely she was sent to the hospital. That was how I spent Christmas at age six. And the way I usually spent Christmas after that was either hiding in my closet from my stepdad, in the hospital, or wondering why Santa always skipped our house and always forgot to get me what I wanted..." there was silence after that. After a couple minutes, Dave said, "Excuse me, but I have to go do something," dropped his shovel, and walked away towards his car.  
  
Dave walked in to the State prison. He sat down in the chair and stared at the glass. A door opened on the other side and in stepped a man Dave had hoped never to see again. But the man smiled at Dave through his unkempt hair.  
"Dave Malucci," he sighed.  
"Malcolm Rogers," Dave answered. Malcolm sat in the chair. Dave's face was straight and he had no anger in his eyes. He knew exactly how this was going to go. His voice wouldn't shake this time and this time he wouldn't look away from his face.  
"I never thought I'd see you here."  
"I never thought I'd see myself here either," Dave answered, truthfully.  
"So why are you here, Dave?" Malcolm asked.  
"It's Christmas," but Malcolm just gave a short laugh.  
"I told you it's all a set up to get you to buy more stuff. Lousy holidays!"  
"No, it's more than that to me, Malcolm," Dave told him, "Christmas is the day I lost everything. My hope, my friends, my dignity... Do you remember why you're in here?"  
"Murder," Malcolm answered, simply. Dave looked into his eyes. The anger that once flared there was gone. They were just pools of brown, dark and broken. Malcolm's fierce, fighting spirit had been shattered.  
"That's right," Dave answered, "Do you remember who's life you took?"  
"I do," Malcolm answered.  
"Whose, Malcolm?" Dave pressed.  
"Yours," Malcolm told him. This answer shocked Dave and his eyes widened with interest.  
"Why do you say that?"  
"When she died, so did you," Malcolm answered simply, "I know that now. Because I remember. The day I lost my mother was the day I went bad, son."  
"You're right, I did die that Christmas. But it didn't work the same way for me as it did for you."  
"What do you do, son?" Malcolm asked.  
"What do you mean?"  
"Your profession. What are you, a lawyer?"  
"Doctor," Dave told him.  
"You don't seem the type."  
"I'm the best damn doctor you'll ever meet," his voice was still steady, but he felt anger rise in him.  
"All right, if you say so," Malcolm had changed and Dave could see that. If he had been the same Malcolm Dave knew when he was little, then by this point in the conversation, he would have been banging on the glass. But he was calm. They had, indeed, broken his spirit. But Dave didn't forgive him. Dave would never forgive him. He would always hate him for what he did.  
"You deserve this, you know," Dave told him, letting some of his feeling sneak into his voice.  
"I know," Malcolm said, simply, "And I just want to say that I'm sorry. I was an addict back then. I needed my pills. And I took my anger out on you. I realized that's scarred you, Dave. Scarred you for life."  
"Damn straight."  
"And I am really sorry for messing up your life."  
"Apology not accepted."  
"OK, OK, I deserve that. But I just couldn't spend the rest of my life here without you knowing I'm different now."  
"Trust me, I know," Dave told him, "But that doesn't change anything between us. Nothing can make me forgive you."  
"I understand that."  
"If you excuse me, I'm going to talk to someone."  
"Sara?" Malcolm asked. Dave didn't reply, "Your Mom?" again, no reply. He threw on his jacket and before he left, he turned back and said his final goodbye that really made an impression on his stepfather.  
"Oh, and Malcolm?"  
"Hm?"  
"I hope you have a Merry Christmas. God knows, I never will again."  
  
Dave glanced at the row of stones, but didn't stop walking. But one caught his eye and he stared at her name for a moment. He saw a glove on the headstone.  
"That's Carter's," he said, picking it up, "He must have left it," he looked at the grave itself again, "At least you lived longer than my sister did," he whispered to the cold, hard stone, "But you two are similar in away. I'm sorry, I'd love to stay and chat, but I have a prior engagement," and he continued through the rows of stones.  
There was snow on the stone he finally stopped at. Dave wiped it away. He knew that not many people would come to see her. Not many were at the funeral. He noticed that there were no flowers, wilted or alive.  
"No one's bothered to give you flowers, huh?" Dave asked, "Well, I would have, but it's winter and... well, I thought a wreath might be more appropriate. You know, like the old days when we'd hang one on our door. We'd always get the nicest ones because you picked them out," Dave sighed and looked up at the sky, trying to stop the tears.  
"I saw Malcolm today. He apologized, but I can't forgive him for what he did to me, for what he did to you. He killed you. That night when the pills were flushed, that horrible Christmas Eve of tears and waiting in the hospital waiting for the doctor to come and tell us you were dead. We cried so hard. We were strong for you. You made us strong. Of course you would say the same thing about us. He was arrested that night after we told the police what happened. Judging by Mom's injuries and yours, they believed us. He's serving life, now, you know, Malcolm is. God, I miss you! I don't think I'll ever look at a Christmas wreath or tree without thinking about you. Or listen to a Christmas carol without seeing your delicate figure dance to it. You were my best friend. I hope you still watch over me," Dave kneeled down next to the grave and brushed away the snow off of the name.  
"I'm not surprised you have no flowers. You weren't all that popular with anyone, were you? You deserved to be, though. You deserved to have a loving family. A mother, a father... A brother. You deserved better. You deserved to live. I wish you were still here. I need your eyes watching me. Please tell me you're still here!" He stared long and hard at the engraved letters, but got no answer. He sighed.   
"I guess there's only one thing left to say," he smiled and felt the letters with his fingers.  
"I love you, Sara Lynn Malucci. And I always will," and with that, he walked back to his car and drove back to the County General.  
A woman, bundled up, stepped out behind the trees. She was fragile and had been through a lot. The black hair she had shared with her daughter was turning gray and her brown eyes lit up at the site of the wreath on Sara's grave.  
"I have a feeling, Dave," she whispered, "That your sister is watching you. And always will be," the woman paid her respects to her daughter and left a card on her stone and left the cemetery herself.  
"I am..." someone whispered, green eyes glowing bright in the falling snow.  



End file.
